


Honeybee

by CoralFlowerNSFW (CoralFlower)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1940s, And she's also a woman, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Logic | Logan Sanders, Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, Bisexual Logic | Logan Sanders, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit Sanders Angst, Deceit Sanders Has a Different Name, Deceit's name is Delilah, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Angst, Good Deceit Sanders, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pegging, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Top Deceit Sanders, fuckfic, he's aspec, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerNSFW
Summary: “Please stay close to me,” Logan says, and he really meansplease be safe, please don’t get hanged, please don’t die because of me. He meansplease, let it be possible for me to linger close without putting you in danger.“I’ve got you,” Delilah says. She pulls him closer, leaning over him; he feels something tickley brush his cheek and opens his eyes. Her hair is coming out of its pins. She cradles his face in her hands as if he’s something precious, and Logan’s breath catches like silk on a rusty nail as he ponders the implications of that.(Logan/Deceit interlaced with Logicality in flashbacks. No death, che/ating, or abuse in the main ships. This story is about growing up bi in small-town Georgia, accidentally stumbling into a witch's house on a hot summer's day, and what it means to be a good man. It's porn that's been overtaken by plot, ft. teacher!Logan, farmer!Patton, and witch!Deceit.)





	1. Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Good Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/322454) by [Grindylowe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grindylowe/pseuds/Grindylowe). 



> This fic was inspired by A Good Man by Grindylowe, which is both more and less kid-appropriate than this fic. More because it isn't smut, but less because the main character is a murderer.
> 
> Speaking of which: this fic will contain smut! I'm still writing the smut and ending scenes, but I figured I'd post the first section just to give myself more motivation to finish this. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title is from Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe, you should listen to it. [bloop.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojYK6CW8gdw) (the main singer-robot in that video, rabbit, is a woman, the one with the goggles on her hat)

Logan Barry grips his worn steering wheel firmly as he drives along the same dusty road he’s been driving on for ages; the afternoon sky looks almost as tired as he is. He’s on his way to a state convention for educators, but he’s gotten lost; he should have come across his place to turn almost twenty minutes ago. He sighs. He can’t afford to be late to this conference, but it’s been at least an hour since the last time he passed anything resembling civilisation, and Logan is beginning to worry.

But wait! Up ahead, is that-- yes. A house, with two majestic stories built about 20 meters off the road, with a semicircular dirt drive that meets the road in two places. Logan pulls into the driveway and puts his car into park, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

It’s been a hot summer, and fall hasn’t yet rsvped. Logan longs for it, but more than that, he longs for peace. He’s tired in a way that sleeping doesn’t fix, in a way that drains the pleasure from everything.

It’s people that are the problem, Logan reflects, as he walks carefully across the front lawn. People and their judgement, their constant expectations, their invasive questions. _When does he plan to marry? Shouldn’t he find himself a wife? Why does he deny himself, with so many beautiful women offering him their attention?_

Logan shakes his head and steps onto the porch. It’s built out of greying wood, and there’s a bench swing and a wicker rocking chair off to one side with a little wicker table between them. He vaguely recalls seeing a set like them in a catalogue years ago, back when he had someone he’d’ve liked to marry and wanted to figure out this whole ‘homemaking’ thing, back before-- well. Best not to dwell on that.

Logan looks around and squints at the sun for a moment, as he always does when reminded of Patton, and then heaves a sigh, stepping the rest of the way across the porch to knock on the door.

“Just a mo’,” calls a voice-- and this voice is low for a woman, high for a man, but definitely not that of a child; it’s too rough for that. It sounds like the person it belongs to has been living with the dust for even longer than Logan has.

Footsteps, beginning quietly and then getting louder, and then the door creaks open.

She’s wearing a pretty yellow dress with white lace edging the neckline and subtle ruffles around the wrists and hem. It’s... Logan is pretty sure this particular fabric is known as ‘gingham’, though he wouldn’t stake his life on it. She has brown eyes, or at least the one Logan can see is brown-- there’s a veil draped across the left side of her face, attached to a headband. The veil is yellow as well. Logan is suddenly having a difficult time remembering why he knocked on her door in the first place.

“Can I help you?” she prompts him, and Logan blushes.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he says, tipping his head forward in something that might have been derived from a bow. The woman smiles. “I’ve been driving on this road for a while now and I think I must be lost. Could you help me find my way?”

“You’ve probably read your map wrong,” the woman says. “Lots do, ‘round here. Most don’t ask for directions, though.”

“Well, I can’t afford to waste any time,” Logan says. “Shall I get my map?”

“Why don’t you come on in, Mr. Barry?” she says, already pulling away from the door, so Logan follows in, taking his hat off as he steps over the doorjamb. “I’m Delilah, by the way.”

Logan never told her his name. How rude of him. He doesn’t notice. Delilah shuts the door behind him and then leads him into her sitting room, and Logan doesn’t go visiting very often, but usually this is the point where he’s offered tea. Delilah doesn’t.

“Why are you so stiff?” she asks, smiling up at him and pressing her warm body into his side. Logan adjusts his tie as an excuse to move his hands away from her, and she nudges them out of the way and loosens it for him, then smooths her palms down his chest. Logan opens his mouth, caught off guard (it’s so warm, she’s so warm), maybe to tell her to stop, maybe to ask what she’s doing, and maybe to ask her to do it faster, whatever it is. The scary part is that he doesn’t know which.

Delilah takes his left hand in hers and interlaces their fingers, like she’s trying to emphasise the fact that neither of them are wearing a ring, and Logan closes his mouth and swallows, trying to break eye contact and then giving up when he just looks at her chest instead. He looks back up.

“You have a strong jaw, Logan Barry,” says Delilah, in that rough, interesting voice of hers. “But your hands are soft. It’s sweet.”

Oh. A compliment. Does that mean-- is Logan supposed to give one back in return?

“You’re beautiful,” Logan says, flush deepening because he’s never been very good at compliments. Delilah laughs at him and it sounds like water being pumped into a bucket. It makes Logan want to smile too even though she’s laughing at his expense.

“Not many people say that to me,” she says, and Logan scoffs. That has to be a lie.

“What?” he says, more earnest than he means to be. “They should. You’re--”

Delilah smirks at him like she’s about to pull open a curtain in front of the world’s most terrible beast, and flips her veil back, revealing scarring over the entire left side of her face, angry and red, textured. It’s a burn scar; Logan has seen scars like it, if much less severe. He blinks.

“What,” he says. “Am I supposed to run screaming?”

Delilah breaks eye contact then, looking at the floor instead of Logan’s face as a flush spreads across her cheeks. Logan misses her attention. She begins to pull away, but he touches her shoulder, says,

“Wait.”

She pauses, no longer pressed up against him but still close enough to feel, and Logan takes a deep breath, trying to build up the nerve to say it.

“Can I touch it? Is that alright with you?”

Delilah looks back at his eyes, searching his face for something, and then she takes his right hand and puts it on her face. Logan strokes over the bumpy skin, not sure what expression he’s wearing and too transfixed to care. Her asymmetry is infinitely interesting.

“This section is like lightning,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along her jaw, and he _feels_ lightning, subtle and soft in his spine. “It’s pretty.”

Delilah does pull away then, flipping the veil back over her face and saying,

“You don’t have to pretend not to mind it. I can cover up--”

“Do I sound insincere?” Logan asks, concerned that he messed something up with his tone. “Do you want to cover it?”

Delilah pauses again. She leans a little closer with a sigh.

“No,” she says. Logan lifts a hand to the veil.

“May I?” he asks, and she smiles crookedly at him and nods. Logan lifts the veil off her face and flips it over, feeling her hair for just a moment in the process. “Just let me know if it hurts anywhere I touch,” he says, cupping her cheek again.

“It’s patchwork sensation,” Delilah says, putting her hand over his. “I feel about half of it.”

“Interesting,” Logan says. God, but she’s warm. He wants her closer but is too polite to ask. “I really do think it’s pretty. I wouldn’t just say that. It reminds me of the pink in magnolia petals. You know, how it follows the veins in the--”

Delilah’s lips are warm and Logan doesn’t know whether she kissed him to shut him up or to thank him. Maybe it was both.

“You have kind eyes,” she says, pulling back (but not far). “The kind I’d marry a woman for.”

“Thank you,” Logan says, because there really isn’t much else he _can_ say. “It’s lucky I’m not a woman, then. I don’t have time to get married.”

Delilah laughs at him again and Logan wants to hear it another time, wants to upholster a loveseat with its texture.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says again. He wants to touch her but he holds eye contact instead because he doesn’t want to ruin things.

“I could say the same to you,” she says, and Logan hasn’t been called beautiful before and doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh,” he says. Delilah leans in for another kiss and Logan’s hands almost move without consulting him first. He’s beginning to sweat.

She kisses him slowly, taking his hand and putting it on her waist, and Logan loses his breath to her lips, lets her steal it right out of his lungs. When she breaks the kiss this time, Logan feels a muscle move under his hand and it almost makes him lose his balance as well.

“Pretty,” she says, and she’s looking right at him when she says it, unmistakeable. She means him.

“What,” Logan says, trying to pull away, but Delilah puts her hands on either side of his face and stands on her tippy toes to lean in and touch their foreheads together, and she says it again.

“Pretty.”

Logan shuts his eyes. He’s melting in her sitting room within view of the windows while his car idles out front and Delilah has just proclaimed him pretty.

“I should turn my car off,” he says. “I should-- I’m going to be late. For my conference.”

“Oh? And what time is it, Mr. Barry?”

Logan opens his eyes and lifts his wrist to check his watch, and-- that can’t be right.

“My watch must have stopped,” he says. The second hand isn’t ticking. He takes his hand off Delilah’s waist and takes the watch off his wrist. “Do you have the time?”

“Oh,” Delilah says, “I’ve the time, alright.”

“I should be on my way,” Logan says, beginning to wind his watch, and Delilah leans in against him, resting her pretty head on his shoulder.

“Should you?” she asks. He feels her breath on his neck and focuses on the twisting motion of the watch dial, back and forth, back and forth. “Stay a while. I haven’t had a guest in so long, Mr. Barry.”

“You’re very beautiful,” Logan says, and oh, he wants to stay. Wants to meet every part of her and shake hands with them too. “But... I cannot miss the check in window for this conference--”

“You’ll end up right back at my door,” Delilah says, and Logan pulls away from her, sort of freaked out. His watch’s second hand still isn’t moving when he looks back down at it, and he puts it back on his wrist, frustrated.

“It was lovely meeting you,” he says, retrieving his hat from her coat tree and stepping out onto the porch.

“You as well, Mr. Barry,” she says, watching him leave. “Don’t get lost out there.”

“I’ll try not to,” Logan says, tightening his tie on his way back to his car.

 

Logan drives maybe another half hour before he reaches the next house. In that time he undoes the first two buttons of his shirt because of the heat. Evening should be on its way even if fall isn’t, so it’s strange for it to still be so hot. It seems like the sun hasn’t lowered a bit.

This house is laid out similarly to Delilah’s, with the semicircular drive and wicker table and chair on the porch, and when Logan knocks, it is she who answers the door. Logan flinches.

“Mr. Barry,” she says, head cocked to the side in a coy imitation of confusion. Her veil is still pulled back and she somehow looks even more lovely than before. “I thought you had a conference to attend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment va ca says moooooo (how is this a french, spanish, and english pun smfh) anyway pls comment


	2. Vanilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i've figured out how this fic is gonna work. it'll alternate between present day (aka sometime around 1940) and the past (1930s ish). i refuse to nail down the exact year this is set in because thats too much work.
> 
> "present day" will all be logan and delilah, and "past" will all be logan and patton. which means this is a logicality chapter! woohoo!

Logan meets him at the county fair. A boy with the biggest pumpkin Logan has ever seen clutched to his chest. Logan can see the muscles in his arms well enough to name them. He has round cheeks and a kind smile and glasses, and he makes eye contact with Logan and shifts the pumpkin to one arm to wave, and Logan almost trips at the casual display of strength. He has no idea what made the boy decide he was special enough to be worth waving at, but for five years Logan remains thankful that it happened. After five or six years he alternates between wishing it hadn’t and pretending it didn’t, but-- 

Logan is thirteen. Patton is fourteen. Patton tells him his glasses are nice, that they make his face look strong, and Logan has only ever been made fun of for them, but suddenly he’s glad he wore them to the fair. Patton treats him to lemonade and complains about math and how he’s going to be moving to Brooks (Logan lives in Brooks), and Logan stumbles as he stutters out an offer to help him study, and instead of beating him up and dumping lemonade on him, Patton grins like he’s won the lottery and hands the pumpkin off to another boy (who staggers) to throw his arms around Logan. Logan shoves him away and takes his glasses off to polish the lenses, but--

Nearly a year later it’s a hot summer’s day. Logan was trying to get Patton to concentrate on math, but Patton kept looking longingly over at the window and sighing, and, well, surely if it’s possible to do math indoors, it’s possible to do it outdoors as well, right? Logan figures that’s probably right, so they go outside and then Logan doesn’t really feel like doing math either. So he tucks the books into his bag, pulls the drawstring tight, and sets it just off the path, and then turns to Patton.

“It’s nice out today,” he says, and Patton smiles.

“Yeah!” he says. “Hey-- there’s this girl I know who likes you.”

Logan furrows his brow.

“Oh,” he says. “What’s her name?”

“Celia.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“She’s the one who wore the pink today? She sits--”

“I still don’t know,” Logan says, wondering why Patton is watching him so intently. “All the girls look the same to me. And I have more important things to worry about.”

“Oh, alright,” Patton says. “I’ll tell Celia you’re not interested. Hey, have you had your first kiss yet?”

Logan narrows his eyes. Patton is acting weird. He grins innocently as though that will make Logan less suspicious, and Logan sighs.

“No, I haven’t. Why? Have you?”

“Nah,” Patton says, with a smug little smile, a secret smile, a smile of hiding something. “I’m saving it for somebody.”

“Oh,” Logan says. The day doesn’t seem so nice anymore. “Well. That’s fine then.”

“Don’t you wanna know who?”

“Not particularly,” Logan says, looking away from Patton to stare at the dusty ground instead.

“Someone who’s really smart,” Patton says. Logan glares at the ground and pushes his glasses up. Logan is smart. “And good at math, too.”

 _Logan_ is good at math. Why does Patton need-- need some _girl_ to help him with his math, when he has Logan? Isn’t Logan good enough? Logan could be inside studying right now, he could be preparing for the National Teachers’ Examination (which he won’t have to take for several years, but he’s ignoring that fact right now), he could be doing literally anything else than listening to Patton talk about the girl he wants to save his first kiss for.

“Amazing,” Logan says, not meaning it at all. “I just remembered I have to go.”

He stands up and walks home in such a hurry that he doesn’t realise he’s left his bag until he’s already locked himself in his room, and at that point he doesn’t want to go back for it. He tells himself it’s because it’s too hot outside, but it’s really because he’s avoiding Patton.

Twenty minutes later his father knocks on his door and tells him his friend is at the door, and Logan knows exactly which friend he means.

“I’m busy,” he says. He hears his dad sigh from the hallway.

“He has your bag, and he says he wants to apologise,” his dad says. Oh. Well, if Patton wants to apologise-- that’s fine, then.

Logan opens the door and crosses his arms. Patton is there on the porch, holding Logan’s bag and staring at his shoes, and just looking at him, Logan wants to-- he doesn’t know what he wants to do.

“I’m sorry,” Patton says, so quiet Logan has to lean in to hear him.

“It’s fi--”

“I really-- I liked being your friend,” Patton says, and he looks up at Logan, eyes full of tears, eyes full of fear, and Logan’s lips part in shock. What is Patton talking about? “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, please don’t-- just-- you don’t have to hang around me anymore, just please don’t tell any--”

“I’m not going to let some genius girl come between you and me,” Logan says, and Patton’s eyes widen, and then he blinks. The tears slide down his cheeks and catch the sunlight like twin butterfly nets. “And you did make me uncomfortable. A little bit, I mean, talking about this girl when I’m-- _I’m_ the one helping you with math. Ain’t I doin’ it good enough? I can get smarter if you need me to.”

Patton stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re plenty smart enough for me, Lo. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiles, and Logan smiles too, and the sun shines down like a spectator, watching them happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all should comment :0


	3. Lemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm doing food themed chapter titles, but I also just think it's hilarious to name the smutty chapter "lemon" XD
> 
> This chapter is over 8000 words long. A _lot_ of work went into it. I've spent months writing it, as a matter of fact.
> 
> I would split it into pieces, but it's all one scene. The thing about having a chapter this long is that the ratio of comments to the work I put in is smaller, so even if you only write one sentence, please comment. 
> 
> Anachronisms: Jenga was invented in the 1970s, but the simile was too good to change. The inflatable beach ball was invented in 1938, too late for it to be the first thing that comes to mind for Logan, but again, the simile was too good to change. I like figurative language.
> 
> Non-anachronisms: Dildos have been around forever, and strap-ons as well. Don't ask me how Delilah got hers. Steamrollers were invented in the 1800s.
> 
> I don't remember if there was good lube back in the 1840s but I'm tired of googling things, I want to post this. There were definitely condoms in the 1930s and 40s! 
> 
> Logan's orgasm in this chapter is one of the best I've ever written. I feel like I say that in every single A/N for fuckfic, but I guess I just keep getting better at writing them.

The breeze blows smoothly as Logan stares. He turns to look at his car, then back at Delilah, and frowns, opening his mouth to speak and then remaining silent when he cannot decide what to say.

He should not be back here. It makes no sense. He did not make a single turn, and the road continued straight. Logan knows circles, and despite his watch stopping, he is certain he was not driving long enough for the road to be a circle so gradual he didn’t notice.

Even if it were, there were no intersections or places to turn between here and Delilah’s house-- how did Logan get onto the road in the first place?

Delilah is watching him calmly, veil fluttering in the eerie breeze, and Logan finds his words.

“What are you-- how are you doing this?”

Delilah’s mouth shifts into a mysterious smile.

“Come inside, pretty boy,” she says, stepping out onto the porch with him, moving like a dream. She’s barefoot. She takes Logan’s hands and pulls, gently, and Logan has no choice but to follow. She shuts her front door and he takes off his hat with shaking hands. She takes it, and places it on the coat tree, smiling more openly at him now and pulling him into her sitting room. She pushes him into a chair this time, and Logan lets her.

“You must be tired,” she says. “Driving for so long.”

“I’m not that tired, really,” Logan says, despite the ache in his back and behind his eyes.

“Why did you leave when I called you pretty?” Delilah asks, touching his chest with those gentle fingers, and Logan averts his eyes, trying very hard not to look anywhere he isn’t supposed to look.

“I’m not--”

“You are,” she insists. “You have kind eyes and smooth skin and fluffy hair. You’re very pretty, Logan Barry.”

“So are you,” Logan mumbles, feeling hot all over; he knows he has to be blushing from head to toe.

“You’re sweet,” Delilah says. She hitches her leg over his and Logan breathes in sharply. “Mr. Barry,” she says. Logan cautiously surveys her, gaze slipping up the curve of her thigh to her waist and then down the other side. “Help me with my zipper.”

The zipper is in the back of the dress, but Delilah doesn’t turn round. She just guides Logan’s hand to it, leaning in right against his chest. She’s warm. Logan feels the heat like aluminum dust on his skin, thick and suffocating. His hand shakes.

“Delilah--”

“Don’t you want to see the rest of me?” she asks, and Logan swallows and admits to it.

“Yes,” he says. “I would like to.”

“What are you waiting for,” Delilah whispers into his neck. Logan shudders. “No point denyin’ yourself, pretty boy.”

Logan begins to pull the zipper down, breathing in shakily, as Delilah presses kisses to his neck and shifts on top of him. Somehow she gets his legs apart enough to slide her leg between them, and when her warm, soft thigh presses against Logan’s crotch, his hips buck upwards without his permission.

Logan stops pulling down her zipper and covers his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. He should leave. He should pull away again.

“Cute,” Delilah says, pressing her thigh into Logan’s crotch again. He manages to keep still this time, but can’t suppress the groan that leaves his throat.

“Delilah--”

“Say my name again,” she says, rubbing herself against him mercilessly, and she’s so warm, so pretty, with the yellow dress sliding partway off her shoulders (the scar follows it down), cheeks flushed.

“Delilah,” Logan gasps. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Finish the zipper,” she says, so Logan pulls it down the rest of the way. Delilah shrugs the dress off her shoulders. She isn’t wearing anything underneath, and Logan doesn’t know much about women or their clothing, but he’s certain there are supposed to be more layers. More obstacles. “Shall we go up to my room?”

“Oh,” Logan says. “Um--”

“Follow me,” Delilah says, shedding the dress completely and leaving it on the floor. The scar drips down her body like water would, like that’s what happened to her: boiling water, spilled on her face to run down her body. There’s no hair on the scarred section of her leg. “The stairs are this way.”

“I should really go--”

“You won’t be late,” Delilah says, pulling the headband out of her hair and setting it on the coffee table. “That isn’t how this works. You’ve found your way into my home, and if you try to leave when you don’t truly want to, you’ll end up at my door yet again. Once you want to leave, though-- you’ll find that no time has passed. You aren’t going to miss a thing, Mr. Barry.”

Logan leans back, alarmed, and Delilah smiles her crooked smile at him.

“Do you want to leave now, Mr. Barry?” she asks. “Now that you know I’m not just a regular woman?”

“I already knew you weren’t a regular woman,” Logan says. Delilah tilts her head to the side, not offended, but interested, curious. So Logan explains. “I don’t usually have this sort of interest,” he says. “In anyone. There was once, before, but that didn’t work out. What’s happening now-- feeling this way, upon first seeing you-- this is highly irregular.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” she asks, lifting one arm to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Logan’s gaze flickers to her armpit hair for barely a moment, and when he looks back at her, she’s smirking.

“Yes,” Logan says softly, studying her face, studying the scar that looks like marble. “I believe it does.”

“Then follow me,” Delilah repeats, turning. The water that burnt her must have splashed over her shoulder, because it has a trail down her back as well. It’s more faded the further it gets from her face.

Logan follows her up creaky stairs. It’s hotter on the second floor, stuffier than his car. Delilah goes through a doorway, and Logan hears the sound of a window being thrown open as he peeks through the doorway to see the corner of a bed with a yellow duvet. He takes a step back. What is he doing here? He should leave. He should go right now, before she has a chance to make him want her any more. He should go, but he doesn’t, and Delilah comes back out of the bedroom and takes his hand.

“Come on.”

Logan shakes his head and tries to pull back, but Delilah’s grip on his hand is so gentle that he can’t seem to commit to leaving it.

“Why not?”

Logan clears his throat and takes a moment to recall his reasons.

“It’s improper,” he says. “Delilah-- I cannot do this to you, whatever my body may want.”

Delilah looks at him like he’s a puzzle she’s trying to figure out, and then her eyes light up.

“Oh,” she says. “You think I’m a virgin!”

She’s laughing at him, and Logan flushes, red as a cherry, and lets go of Delilah’s hand to push his glasses up.

“Why is that funny?” he asks.

“Logan,” Delilah says plainly. “I’ve fucked more men than you’ve shaken hands with.”

Logan’s jaw drops. He’s taken aback by her frank attitude. True, he doesn’t know Delilah, but he didn’t expect this from her. She’s a proper down home country lady with a sitting room and a yellow dress and a burn scar over a good portion of her body and enough notches in her belt, apparently, to fell a tree.

“Come on,” she says, and still Logan hesitates.

“I-- Delilah, I--”

“You pretty thing,” she says, leaning in with a crooked smirk on her lips and a hand on his shoulder. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were sent here because the universe wants to give me somethin’ nice for a change. Maybe you deserve somethin’ nice too, hm?”

She puts one finger on his chin and pushes up, tipping his head back, and Logan shuts his eyes as a shudder runs through him. Then her lips brush his neck, soft, almost teasing, raising goosebumps on his skin.

“I can be nice to you,” she whispers, breath warm on his neck, and Logan swallows. “You want me, don’tcha, Mr. Barry?”

“I don’t have condoms,” Logan says, shaking his head and stepping back, because he simply cannot do this. He can’t allow her to convince him to take that risk, even if the sensation of being seduced is new and refreshing. “I--”

“I can’t get pregnant,” she says. “Are you sick?”

Logan shakes his head. 

“Not that I know of.”

His voice cracks. It makes the corner of her mouth quirk upwards.

“Neither am I,” she says. “If you’d prefer not to believe a stranger, that’s perfectly fine, but you might have a hard time wanting to leave here before you try it.”

Logan lets his eyes close. It did not occur to him to doubt her, but now he thinks about it; _...pretty thing_ , she called him, _with those eyes shut, cheeks all red, you’re just perfect, aren’tcha..._

Logan frowns, and opens his eyes, blinking rapidly and wondering where that came from. It doesn’t particularly matter, he decides, because Delilah is not lying to him, and anyway, she’s right that he wants to stay.

“Alright,” he says, nodding redundantly.

“Lovely,” Delilah says, stepping back into his personal space, and now Logan is barely a foot from the wall opposite her bedroom door. He steps back just because he knows she’ll follow, and then struggles with the mass of heat that rises in his abdomen when she presses gently on his chest so his back touches the wall. She undoes one of his buttons, and Logan must have some kind of look on his face, because her eyebrow jerks up for a moment before settling back down. She looks smug. “You’re so gorgeous. I swear I could look at you for hours and not get bored.”

“The same is true of yourself,” Logan says, sort of hating himself for being disappointed when she takes his hand and pulls him towards her bedroom, no longer caging him in. Maybe he liked that. He isn’t sure, but now the moment is over and he’ll never find out.

Delilah does not bother to pull her duvet back before pushing him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and finishing her work on his buttons. He undoes his tie while she undoes the buttons, and then she’s pulling his shirt off his shoulders.

“I want to make you come apart,” she says, and Logan feels a jolt run through him.

“Oh,” he says. She puts her hand at the front of his pants and he shudders, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her closer. Touching her without the dress between them feels dangerous, like he’s standing on the crossbeams in an unfinished roof on a windy day. Her skin is smooth, except for where Logan’s right thumb touches the scar. There, it’s still soft, but much more delicate. She flinches, and he shifts his hand away. 

“You know you’re allowed to look at my breasts,” she says, and Logan feels himself flushing.

“I--”

“You’re so fuckin’ cute. So shy.”

Logan isn’t used to hearing ladies cuss. But he doesn’t think he minds it, as Delilah pops the button on his pants and pulls his zipper down.

“I’m just cautious,” he says. “I didn’t want to make you feel... commodified.”

“You don’t have to convert every adjective to something that sounds less feminine to let it apply to you,” Delilah says. “You aren’t cautious, you’re shy. If you were cautious, you’d be driving to your conference by now. Now get your pants off, yeah?”

Logan takes his pants off, feeling strange and small as he does so, like he’s been bested by someone he should have been equal to. He wants to tell her he’s only shy because she’s around, and because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but everything moves a little too fast for him to do so.

“Excited, huh?” she says, and Logan swallows.

“It’d be difficult not to be,” he replies.

“Spread your legs,” Delilah says, pouring something onto her fingers out of a bottle, and Logan obeys with a frown.

“What are you doing?” he asks, as Delilah pushes him onto his back and leans over him, breasts swinging just slightly with the movement. He feels fingers touching, feeling, and then slicking lube over his hole, and he lets his head fall back onto the bed, eyes slipping shut as his lips part. “Oh.”

“Wow,” Delilah says. “Pretty.”

Logan opens his eyes again.

“Delilah-- are you-- do you want me to...”

The words catch in his throat because he isn’t sure what to call it.

“Is that a problem?” she asks, and Logan shakes his head.

“Only I haven’t done it before,” he says. “And I’m confused about... how are you planning to, um...”

Delilah smirks, kissing him on the cheek.

“Don’t you worry about that,” she says, fingers moving against his hole. “Just relax, okay? Just sit there and look pretty for me, Mr. Barry.”

Something pulses in Logan’s core, and his cock twitches. It’s embarrassing, but Delilah doesn’t laugh at him, just asks,

“Do you like that?”

“It’s--” Logan wants to say no. Logan doesn’t _want_ to like it.

“Does it make the wanting stronger?” she asks, rephrasing, pouring more lubricant onto her fingers, and Logan nods.

“I don’t know why,” he says. “It’s--”

“--okay,” Delilah interrupts. “It’s okay. Just let things feel good.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Logan says.

“That’s okay too. Just try.”

“Alright,” Logan whispers. “I will.”

And he does try, as Delilah slides one of her dainty fingers into his hole, just enough to make his whole body flip out and start setting off alarms in his brain, and he arches his back, almost shoves her away before remembering himself and grabbing the duvet instead.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Oh, that-- that feels--”

It feels wrong, and strange, and dangerous, like it shouldn’t be happening, but it felt worse when she first started and it’s feeling less and less bad as the seconds tick by (or seem to tick by, since this blistering afternoon is still at its height), so-- maybe--

“Relax your muscles,” Delilah says. “You’re very tense. You have to relax.”

And Logan remembers whispering this same advice to Patton, two nights before the new moon, as Patton gripped his hand so tight it almost hurt. Which makes it even harder to relax.

“Breathe with me,” Delilah says, and Logan whimpers, covers his mouth, and then breathes, breath shaking and hitching constantly as lightning tears its way through his body with each of his heartbeats. “Good,” she tells him, and Logan doesn’t think he’s doing very well at all, since he hasn’t relaxed and it still feels strange, but it makes him feel good anyway to hear it.

“No I’m not,” he says, and Delilah laughs at him again.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” she says. “Try relaxing again.”

Logan shuts his eyes, and bites his lip, trying to relax, and-- oh-- it feels much different with his muscles relaxed, and the shock of it makes him tense up again.

“Good,” Delilah says. “There you go, you had it. Try again.”

It lasts a little longer this time, long enough for Logan to realise he actually sort of likes the feeling, but then he’s tense again and it’s bad again and he feels-- weird. Lonely.

“Please,” he murmurs, not sure what he’s asking for.

“You’re so pretty,” she says, and Logan melts beneath her, grip loosening on the covers, lips parting to let a sigh escape. “You like being good for me, don’t you, sweet thing.”

“Yes,” Logan says, even though it terrifies him. “Ah-- shit. I don’t know why I like it, I’ve never liked anything like this before, I don’t-- I just--”

“Breathe,” Delilah says, and Logan tries. “It’s gonna be okay. You don’t have to do this, okay? Liking it doesn’t mean wanting it, so just... let me know, okay? If you’d rather not.”

“No, I-- I want it, too,” Logan admits. “I want it a lot. I hate-- I hate wanting it, I don’t know why I want it, this is-- it’s-- I shouldn’t be _wanting_ to be vulnerable, Delilah, I--”

“Shh,” she says. “You’re forgetting to breathe again, Mr. Barry.”

“Logan,” he says. “Call me Logan.”

“Breathe,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says. “I’m trying. It’s hard.”

Delilah’s finger slides out of him, and Logan sobs, shutting his eyes tightly and clinging to her.

“No wait,” he says. “Please, wait, don’t-- don’t give up on me, I can do it. I can--”

and then he stops, face burning red, mortified at how utterly he just forgot himself.

“You can what?” Delilah asks, and Logan shakes his head, hunching his shoulders and trying to hide.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “I--”

“You’re not relaxed anymore,” she says, and there’s a hint of scolding to her voice that flattens Logan’s embarrassment.

“Oh,” he says. “Sorry. I-- I’m sorry.”

“Breathe,” Delilah says, and finally, Logan _actually_ listens, _actually_ tries, manages to focus all his attention on his breath, on making it even.

“Delilah,” he murmurs, eyes shut, legs spread for her. Oh god. He’s flat on his back, legs spread for someone else, _breathing_ for someone else, and-- he doesn’t mind. It doesn’t feel bad, or wrong, but liking it does. “I can be good for you. I want to be good for you.” His voice shakes like a jenga tower.

“You’re so sweet,” Delilah says. “We’ll take it slow, Lo. Just relax, okay?”

She kisses him on the nose, and he flushes, and nods.

“Good,” she says. “It’s okay that you want this.”

Logan nods, taking that in and trying to memorise it, trying to internalise it.

“Please,” he says. “I do-- I just-- I want to keep going. I want, um, you-- your finger.”

Delilah presses a kiss to his cheek and then pulls back to get her fingers slicked up again.

“You look so hot like this,” she tells him, and Logan swallows. “Fuck, it’s amazing. I can’t even remember the last time I was this wet.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Logan makes a small sound, feeling like he’ll be lucky if he can even lift his head, but then she touches his hole again and his hips jerk towards her hand. He groans, humiliated, and she smirks, sliding that finger back into his hole, no further than the first time.

“Ohh,” he moans. “Oh--”

Logan notices it this time. He notices the edge of wanting that will take over his brain if he lets it, and make him say more of those embarrassing, desperate things, and he welcomes it. He doesn’t want to think about this, he just wants to feel it, he wants to feel good. He wants to _be_ good.

“Yeah?” Delilah says, watching him carefully. “How does it feel?”

“Weird,” Logan says, aware that his voice sounds a little different now, saturated with emotion and want, now that he’s stopped holding it back. “Oh, I like it. Can-- May I have more?”

Delilah lets out a quiet snort and nods, sliding her finger in just the slightest bit more, and Logan furrows his brow and tries to adjust.

It’s weird. Logan focuses on breathing and it gets better.

“More,” he says. “More, give me-- please give me more.”

It first starts hurting again when Delilah adds the tip of a second finger, and Logan gasps, choking on his breath, almost coming out of his hazy state of mind and surfacing into a sea of self-consciousness, but something in him remembers to breathe, and so he just breathes, ignoring how it feels and focusing on his breath.

“You okay?” Delilah asks, and Logan nods, shutting his eyes.

“I like it,” he says. “Mm. Hurts, sometimes, a little. But-- but-- it stops, when I breathe, so, I don’t mind. It’s good. Feels, um... like what I want. Makes me feel-- I don’t know. But please don’t stop.”

Delilah slowly slides those two fingers in until Logan can feel the knuckles of her other fingers against his ass, and then she kisses him on the lips too quickly for him to kiss back and says,

“This might feel weird.”

She crooks her fingers. And fuck, it does feel weird. Logan sort of hates it, until he doesn’t, until for some reason it fucking wrecks him, tearing a gasp from his throat and sending sparks up his spine.

“Holy shit,” he says. Delilah wriggles her fingers a little and he whimpers sharply, hips bucking wildly against her hand. “What’s-- what is that?”

“Does it feel good?” she asks, and Logan nods, no longer breathing anywhere near evenly.

“It’s-- wow,” he gasps. “Delilah-- ‘lilah, oh my god.”

She smiles at him, and Logan suddenly understands the hunger he saw in Patton’s eyes so often after that first time. This is something he could feel hungry for, something he _would_ feel hungry for, if he was often right next to the person who provided it to him.

“You look so good like this,” she says, and Logan arches his back. “You just-- wow, Logan. You’re so pretty, I can’t-- I don’t have the words to describe it.”

“I like it when you call me pretty,” Logan says, voice high and thin. “Lilah-- please--”

She pours more lubricant out of her bottle, directly onto her fingers, and starts sliding a third finger in alongside the first two. Logan gasps, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets and whimpering as she wriggles the first two fingers against that spot inside him, the one that shatters him every time she touches it. And the third finger makes him ache, as it slides further in, but it doesn’t ache much, and Logan can’t find the focus to care about the pain.

“Does it hurt at all?” she asks, and Logan shrugs, still gasping for air, still trying to gather himself up and piece himself back together.

“A little,” he says. “Not, much, it’s-- it’s okay. Please-- Lilah-- what is, how are you making me feel--”

She jabs all three fingers into that spot on his front wall, and Logan lets out all the air in his lungs at once like a beachball being run over by a steamroller.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, and Delilah keeps her fingers moving.

“Relax,” she whispers, and Logan shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he says. “Oh god, I can’t. I--”

“Breathe.”

Logan breathes, and it turns out he can relax more, he just thought it was impossible. Delilah spreads her fingers apart inside him, and that makes him flinch, makes him let go of the covers to wrap his arms around her waist instead.

“Oh my god,” he says. “What’s-- what are you, uh--”

“Stretching you out,” Delilah says. “The men that come ‘round here don’t agree to do this very often. I usually don’t ask anymore, but something about you...”

Logan groans and covers his face, wondering what the _fuck_ that means, what kind of impression he must give if Delilah looked at him and decided maybe he’d want this.

“Don’t agree to do what,” he murmurs, and Delilah sighs.

“Let me fuck them,” she says.

“How does that _work_ ,” Logan asks again.

“You’ll see,” she says, fingers twisting within him. Fuck. Logan can barely focus on the conversation with her feeling him like this. “I think you’re gonna love it, can’t wait to-- fuck.”

“Can’t wait to what,” Logan says. “Lilah _please_ , just tell me.”

“Fuck, okay,” she mutters, crooking her fingers against that spot inside him one last time before she pulls them out, leaving Logan feeling empty and jittery as little shocks run across his skin.

“Wait-- where are you going,” he asks, as she crosses her room to the closet and starts digging through boxes.

“Just a second,” she says, and Logan sits up on his elbows, surprised his muscles are so shaky.

Delilah turns back around holding--

It’s a leather harness with a shiny phallic object attached.

Logan’s jaw drops. He’s never seen anything similar before.

“What-- what the fuck is that,” he says, even though its purpose is pretty obvious.

“Well, it doesn’t really have a name,” Delilah says. “Let’s call it Prudence. Ha, I’ve never named something like this before.”

“Please don’t give it a name,” Logan says, and Delilah grins.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing. Fuck. Can you please just--” Logan cuts himself off and shuts his eyes, not wanting to see Delilah’s reaction as he reaches down and hesitantly pokes at himself, but he hears her breath hitch.

“My god, Logan,” she says. “Are you trying to make me fuck you so hard you can’t speak, or are you just like this?”

Logan shrugs, not really processing the question, more focused on sliding one finger inside himself. And then his mind catches up, and he gasps.

“Oh,” he says, eyes flying open. “Um-- you can. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Fuck,” she says. “Okay. Uh-- here, let me do that.”

She puts a hand on Logan’s wrist and he pulls his finger out with a sigh and shifts his hips, feeling empty and weird about it.

“Lilah,” he says, and then winces, because his voice sounds hiccupy and rough, pathetic.

“Yes?”

“Uh-- Lilah-- kiss me?”

Her hair is still pinned up behind her head and Logan wants it down, but he doesn’t have the dexterity to try right now. And besides, there’s always later. She leans over him and kisses him, and Logan sighs into it, feeling much more peaceful now, content. He barely notices her fingers sliding back inside him until she spreads them apart again, and then he gasps, squirming and turning his head to the side; it just feels so weird.

“You okay?”

Logan nods, frowning, and turns back to her for another kiss.

It’s nice. Delilah is good at kissing. It’s easy to get lost in the wet warmth of her lips against his, so Logan lets himself get lost, figuring she can find him again if he needs her to.

It feels sudden when she pulls back, and pulls her fingers out. Logan isn’t ready for it to stop.

“Wh-” he starts to say, and she puts a finger to his lips.

“Shh, Lo. No worries. I just have to strap Prudence on--”

Logan groans in embarrassment and covers his face.

“So--” he stutters, “so you’re-- you’re going to, to fuck me with, with-- Prudence?”

He hates himself for giving in to the name of the thing, but he appreciates the smile he sees on Delilah’s face as he peeks through his fingers, and-- oh-- he pulls his hands away from his face when he catches a glimpse of it.

Delilah looks incredible like this. Like a goddess, with her hair starting to fall out of its updo, sweat shining on her forehead and neck and breasts (oh god, her breasts). Logan notices that the scar on her left goes over one nipple and feels a sudden surge of concern, because-- that must’ve _hurt_ , no matter how long ago it happened. He wants to kiss the entire surface of the scar, wants to do it _now_. And that’s not even mentioning the leather straps around her thighs, and the phallus-- it’s light green, like it’s made out of jade, and that makes Logan swallow, because... fuck. Stone is hard. It looks huge from his vantage point, but then Delilah’s hand smears lubricant across it and he realises it’s not actually very large. It’s smaller than he is, in fact.

It’s still larger than anything he’s had in him before.

“Yes,” she says. “Assuming you want me to.”

Logan nods, unable to look away from the thing, and swallows as he watches a droplet of lubricant drip down its length and onto Delilah’s skin.

“I do,” he says. “Just-- oh, fuck. Go slow?”

“Of course,” she says. “We’ll take whatever pace you want, Logan. Whatever feels good.”

Logan nods again, reaching for her hips as she scoots back between his legs. She finds his hips at the same moment he finds hers, and then she’s hitching him up partway into her lap, making him groan. His hips rest on her knees now, and he can’t quite reach her hips anymore, so he puts his hands on her waist instead.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Um-- just a second,” Logan says. “Oh, god, Lilah. Wait, wait a second, how... What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I--I can’t just, just-- let you fuck me and not make you feel good too,” Logan says, very concerned about this now, and Delilah’s smile grows, crooked and pretty.

“We can worry about that later, alright? I enjoy doing this, too, Logan.”

Logan nods, and moves one hand from her waist to his own hips, trying to find her hand. He finds it and puts his hand over it, and she leans down to kiss his cheek. Logan feels the jade phallus touch his leg, and flinches. It’s somehow cool to the touch despite the aching heat that fills the air, the room, and Logan.

“Okay,” Logan says. “Don’t let me forget. I’m ready, then.”

“Alright,” Delilah says, kissing him once more on the lips before she sits back up. She pulls Logan’s hips closer to her, further up on her thighs, and Logan’s legs spread farther apart around her waist. Logan gives up on holding her waist because it hurts his arm, and takes that arm back to push his glasses up, still touching her hand with his other.

Oh-- it’s cold, right up against his hole, as she lines up, and Logan’s throat closes as he suddenly has doubts. He opens his mouth, but nothing will come out, and he’s terrified for a moment, trying to grab Delilah’s hand, trying to figure out something to say.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and Logan lets out a whiny sigh and reaches for her. She takes his hand. “Logan. Logan, listen. Are you listening to me?”

Logan nods, squeezing his eyes shut.

“It is never too late to stop. If you stop wanting it, or stop liking it, tell me.”

“I’m just-- I got worried,” he finally manages to say. “That’s all, I’m overthinking it.”

“Okay,” Delilah says. “Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes,” Logan says. “Delilah, please, you’re giving me too much time to think about it, just-- just do it.”

“Alright,” she whispers, holding Logan’s hips tighter as she moves hers forwards, and Logan gasps and grabs her wrist as-- as _Prudence_ slips inside him, and honestly, he sort of wants to laugh. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Logan says, feeling like he’s been punched in the stomach, like he just ran several miles.

“You’re relaxed? It doesn’t hurt?”

“Um-- a little. Delilah-- please?”

“What are you asking for?” Delilah says. Logan feels a hand on his chest, and he flinches; he didn’t realise she had let go of his hips. It’s strange, to be so unaware of his surroundings, so vulnerable.

“Please hold my hand,” he says. “Please-- please.”

Delilah takes his hand, and Logan sighs, and feels a muscle in his back relax.

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Okay, I think,” he says. “Just... just need a second. Oh, that feels...”

He trails off, and then smiles as Delilah lifts his hand and kisses his fingertips, one by one.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters, and she giggles at him.

“You have your eyes shut,” she says, and Logan opens them just to roll them at her and then shuts them again.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I still know you’re beautiful.”

“Bit of an upgrade, isn’t that?” she says, and Logan has to think for a moment before he figures out what she means.

“Wh-- oh. I know more words,” he says. “Um--”

“How does it feel?” Delilah interrupts, and Logan’s lips part. Oh. He forgot about that.

“Um... Doesn’t hurt. You can, um, go in further.”

“I’m going to let go of your hand for a moment, then,” she says, and Logan pouts as she grabs hold of his hips again.

Then-- his breath is catching in his throat as she pulls him closer and the-- Logan refuses to call it Prudence-- the thing goes deeper.

“Stop,” he gasps, after only a moment, and Delilah stops.

“Stop as in pull out, or--”

“No,” Logan says. “No, just-- please stay right there. Just gotta breathe, still-- still wanna keep on going. Feels weird.”

“Yes, it’ll feel strange,” Delilah says. “You were saying something about knowing a lot of words.”

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Um... like ethereal. You’re ethereal, like I look up at you and can’t believe you’re real because you’re so pretty, Delilah, like... Like a crystal chandelier so high up you can’t imagine anyone putting it there.”

“You’re very coherent,” she observes, acting like she doesn’t care about the compliment, but Logan opens one eye and watches as her entire face flushes almost red enough to match the scar. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

Logan nods.

“No, I haven’t. I’m an anal virgin.”

Delilah snorts, and then she’s giggling, and Logan can feel it inside him, because every little movement makes the thing move, and he shuts his eyes again, biting his lip.

“Oh my god, I love the way you talk,” she says. “Logan. You’re amazing.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, as her giggling peters out and he slowly rediscovers how to breathe.

“Just the words you use,” she says. “That’s all. Holy shit. Say something else.”

People don’t usually ask him to talk more. It’s refreshing, it’s incredible. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and wonders why his voice is so unsteady as he says,

“You’re dazzling, then,” he says. “Wonderful. Like--” Oh. “Like staring into the sun? Oh...”

“What is it?” she asks, and Logan shakes his head as-- something is happening to him. He’s drowning. His chest shakes, and he makes a strange, frightening sound. “Why are you crying? Logan--”

She starts to pull back, and Logan closes his thighs around her waist and crosses his ankles behind her back.

He’s crying. He hasn’t done that in a long time.

“Just-- reminded myself of something sad,” Logan says between sobs. “That’s all. Someone I miss. You aren’t that much like him, I just-- apparently I default to similar compliments without realising it at first. That’s-- that’s all.”

“You keep saying that’s all,” Delilah says. “Are you alright?”

Logan sighs, and shrugs.

“I just-- it’s fine. It’s been years, I’m okay.”

“No, you aren’t,” Delilah says. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not okay either.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan says. “I wish... I wish we could be.”

“But we aren’t,” Delilah says. “Just... don’t wish too hard. There’s no limit to how much it can hurt.”

“I know,” Logan says. “Um-- please keep going, though.”

Delilah takes a deep breath, and lines back up again. Logan didn’t realise she had pulled out, but it makes sense. It would have hurt to cry like he was, with it inside him.

She stops too soon, sooner than Logan is ready for, and he shifts his hips. The ache is barely there, and when he takes another breath, it disappears completely.

“Wait,” Logan says. “A little more.”

She moves her hips forwards a tiny bit and it takes Logan a moment to realise she doesn’t intend to keep going.

“More,” he says. “Delilah, c’mon, please.”

“You sure?” she asks, and he nods.

“Please. I-- oh,” she moves her hips forwards, and his back arches. “Lilah... how much, um, is in?”

“You’ve got about... two thirds left,” she says, and Logan nods. That makes sense; he feels every little shift like an earthquake, like it’s an inch and not a sixteenth of one.

“Give me a little more?” he says, and Delilah doesn’t do it at first.

“Are you sure? You’re going kind of fast, Logan. You don’t need to rush.”

Logan lets out a frustrated sound.

“I just-- I really want all of it, ‘Lilah.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “Here, let’s see...”

She starts to pull out, and Logan opens his mouth to complain about it, but then she pushes slowly back in, and 

it’s so much it’s _too_ much

Logan is holding on so tight to her hand that it probably hurts, covering his mouth with his hand because he’s vaguely aware he’s making noise, and-- there is lightning inside of him, like the lightning on Delilah’s jaw, stronger and sharper than any part of him. And Logan realises-- _this_ is fucking. He’s being _fucked_. Slowly and gently, yes, but he’s still being fucked, and he feels so full, and-- okay. Yes. It makes much more sense to go very slowly now, because Logan can’t imagine taking more of it inside him. Not if it’s moving in and out, dragging gently against his walls like it is now.

“...so pretty,” Delilah is saying. “Holy shit.”

“No, you,” Logan says, and-- is that his voice? It can’t be, he doesn’t sound whiny like that--

“Fuck,” Delilah says. “You sound so hot, Logan.”

Logan lets out a whimper and then covers his mouth, mortified that such a sound could have just come out of him. 

“Please--”

“How does it feel,” Delilah says. “Talk to me.”

“Nh, it’s--” Logan pauses to groan and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck. That’s so-- it’s rough. More, um, more oil.”

Logan hears a wet sound and then everything is much slicker the next time Delilah thrusts back in. He groans.

“It’s so much, Delilah. I feel so-- so full. Please...”

Logan trails off, and then he feels Delilah’s lips on his cheek for a moment and smiles.

“Hm?”

He wasn’t going to say anything after please.

“Please stay close to me,” he says, and he really means _please be safe, please don’t get hanged, please don’t die because of me_. He means _please, let it be possible for me to linger close without putting you in danger_.

“I’ve got you,” Delilah says. She pulls him closer, leaning over him; he feels something tickley brush his cheek and opens his eyes. Her hair is coming out of its pins. She cradles his face in her hands as if he’s something precious, and Logan’s breath catches like silk on a rusty nail as he ponders the implications of that.

“You can, um... I think I can handle it a little deeper,” he says. It’s unreasonable how quickly the sensation stopped being overwhelming and began to be insufficient. 

“Stay relaxed,” she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and Logan nods, putting his hand over hers.

“I’m breathing,” he murmurs, and on her next thrust, she slows down, drawing it out, and Logan’s fingers twitch. He wants to hold onto something. He settles for the covers.

He feels wrecked again, torn to pieces, and he wonders how many times she plans to do this to him before stopping. How many times will she let him recover himself only to take him apart again?

Logan doesn’t mind it. It feels good. It feels quiet. It lets him turn his brain off and just exist, and he doesn’t have to think about how annoying other people are, he doesn’t have to think about his colleagues _laughing_ about what happened to Romeo, he doesn’t have to think about--

Logan shudders out a sigh and reminds himself he isn’t thinking about that. About all the nightmares he had after they parted, about the nightmares he still has far too often.

Patton is in a better place now, Logan reminds himself. He wants to be with him, but that’s selfish. Logan will never be able to follow him. It’s okay.

He just wants to stop seeing Patton’s face in his dreams, drained of colour and--

“Hey,” Delilah says. “Logan?”

Logan swallows a mouthful of saliva and takes her hand.

“Feels good,” he murmurs. “Keep going.”

“You keep thinking,” Delilah says. “...You miss someone.”

Logan feels like it’s rude, to long for Patton so desperately while he lies with another.

“I do,” he admits nonetheless, because despite his innumerable flaws, Logan Barry is an honest man. “It’s-- he’s gone. I just want to stop thinking about it. I apologise for my apparent disinterest.”

“I’ll help,” Delilah says. “Is that okay?”

“What do you mean?” Logan asks. She’s stilled inside him to make the conversation easier, and he shifts. “Help?”

“I’ll show you,” Delilah says. She shuts her eyes and touches Logan’s temples, and Logan feels the heartache slip away. It’s strange. It’s still there, but it’s no longer connected to him. It’s as though each moment spent with Patton was spent by someone else. Logan hates it.

“I don’t like that,” Logan says. “I-- I really don’t like--”

The pain slides gently back into place, and Logan takes a deep breath.

“I don’t mind if you think about somebody else,” Delilah says, very quiet, and Logan can tell she does mind.

“I will focus on you,” he says. “Please understand, you are only the second person I’ve had such... intimacy with. I think of him because it is difficult not to draw connections between similar experiences, not out of any lack of desire for you. Nevertheless, it is unfair of me.”

Delilah studies him, and Logan worries about the adequacy of his explanation but says no more; he has nothing to add. Then she’s taking his face in her hands again and tilting his head so he’s easier to kiss, leaning in so they are inches apart.

“You’re truly going to try,” she says. “Why?”

“It matters,” Logan whispers, and she kisses him, soft lips pressing against his and warming him to the core.

Logan thinks she likes that answer because of what it isn’t. Because it’s not “to appease you” or “because I think I’m supposed to do it.” She likes that answer because he cares.

He likes kissing her, because her lips are soft and it makes her thighs shift against his, and she is so very warm. He turns his head to break the kiss anyway, though; there’s another thing he thinks he’d like more.

“Please keep moving,” he says, and it’s like his voice can’t decide whether it wants to settle somewhere low and raspy or float embarrassingly high. “Please, keep fucking me.”

“I love that,” Delilah says. “Fuck, what year is it, Logan, and have all men lost their shame so perfectly?”

“1941,” Logan murmurs, thinking about shame and about John, about blatant lies, about _‘course I am, what are you talking about? _“No. We have not.”__

__“Damn,” she sighs. She begins moving again, and Logan’s hands find her waist with some difficulty. “Maybe someday. You’re a good man, Logan Barry. I don’t care what you’ve been told about what you should or shouldn’t be.”_ _

__Logan swallows._ _

__“Delilah... why did you ask? About the year?”_ _

__Delilah sighs, kissing him to stall (or maybe just because she likes it too)._ _

__“I’d prefer to explain later or never,” she says eventually, and in the meantime Logan has become distracted by the way her hips move under his hands as she fucks him slowly._ _

__“Oh,” he says. “Alright. You can go deeper, I think.”_ _

__She goes deeper, and it renders him utterly speechless. If this is how Patton felt--_ _

__Logan stops the thought there and holds on tighter to her waist._ _

__“You okay?” she asks, and Logan nods, eyelashes fluttering, hands feeling weak, like he can’t hold onto her tight enough to stay close. “You look so good like this.”_ _

__Logan hears himself make an overwhelmed noise, and everything is so warm, so hot. Delilah shifts a little bit, and then she’s brushing against the spot she found earlier with every slow thrust. It throws Logan’s back into a rigid arch, expels a groan from his throat._ _

__“I’m-- close,” he manages to gasp, and Delilah leans over him to kiss him, pressing closer. She does not slow down, and Logan whimpers as he gets so close to the edge he thinks surely, surely this must be it-- but he does not come. He’s hovering right there as she fucks him, pressing harder into that spot with every thrust, and Logan knows he will not come from this alone, no matter how good it feels._ _

__So he reaches down to touch himself._ _

__Delilah puts a hand out to stop him, and he whimpers, taking her hand and clutching her fingers in his like she’s pulling him out of a flooded river._ _

__“Why--”_ _

__“I’d like to watch a moment longer,” Delilah murmurs, lifting his hands to her mouth to kiss his fingertips, and Logan’s fingers twitch in her grasp. “Is that alright? Just a moment, sweetheart, and then I’ll touch you, make you come.”_ _

__And Logan can understand that, because he remembers those times with Patton, remembers the way he looked when he was on the edge, remembers wishing he could draw that moment out for longer. So even though he’s desperate, even though it feels like he’ll die, he nods._ _

__“Mm,” he groans. “Just-- tell me-- am I-- do I look--”_ _

__He can’t bring himself to fully articulate the question, but Delilah understands what he’s asking anyway._ _

__“So beautiful,” she says. “Gorgeous, Logan. You keep biting your lips like you want to keep the sounds in, but it never works. If I still had neighbors, they would probably hear you, love. What do you think of that?”_ _

__Heat rushes through him, resting on the surface of his skin, and he whimpers._ _

__“Embarrassing,” he says._ _

__“It’s beautiful,” she says. “You’re so vocal, and anyway, there’s no one to hear you but me, Lo. You look amazing like this. Are you ready to come?”_ _

__Logan nods, back arching further in anticipation, fingers twitching in her hand again as he moans._ _

__“Soon,” she says, and Logan exhales sharply, feeling like he’s lost his balance on the edge of a roof._ _

__“Lilah--”_ _

__“Yes, dear?” She smiles at him, somehow still sweet despite the lust in her eyes as she watches him, hips moving back and forth. “Tell me what you want.”_ _

__“I want to come,” Logan says, voice small and quiet. He feels pathetic, overwhelmed by less than half of the thing’s length within him. It’s her skill, the way she keeps each thrust exactly the same angle, the same speed, like she’s had decades of practice. “Delilah, I want-- want you to touch me.”_ _

__She lets go of his hands and touches his stomach, just above the place where his cock is dripping pre onto his skin, and Logan lets his hands fall to his sides and clenches them into fists, not trying to touch himself anymore because-- he isn’t sure why. She glances down and Logan can tell she’s noticed, because she raises her eyebrows at him. He flushes._ _

__“Is that what you want,” she murmurs, fingers sliding lower, smearing Logan’s precome down his stomach. She’s achingly slow about it. Her hips slow down too. Logan feels like he’s falling in a dream, feels the same tickle of vertigo in his stomach that he wakes up with just before hitting the ground._ _

__“Please,” he says. “Please, Delilah. No more stalling, just--” he breathes in sharply, almost choking on his saliva, as she wraps her fingers around his cock and her thumb slides over the head, twisting deftly, smoothly, slickly. He feels himself twitch in her hand, and then he’s coming, fingernails digging into his palms. She strokes him through it, still thrusting in and out, still watching, looking between his face and his cock as he comes. It’s like watching the sunrise that Logan won’t see until he leaves this place, and that’s all the poetry he has in him right now because he’s a little distracted by his come landing in lines all the way up his torso like someone took a spoon and drizzled paint across his body._ _

__“That’s fucking gorgeous,” Delilah says, voice raspy, and Logan cannot help it: he whimpers. Her hips are slowing down and she’s still touching him, he can feel her calloused fingertips on his skin and it’s hot, it’s so hot because her hands don’t feel like women’s are supposed to. “You look so good like this, Logan.”_ _

__“Feels good,” he says, shutting his eyes and reaching for her hand. He’s floating, drifting, in a sea of softness. It’s warm. Delilah lets go of his cock and takes his hand, and it’s lovely for a moment, but then Logan feels the wet stickiness on her hand and realises it’s all over him and feels his face twist. He opens his eyes. Delilah is pulling out, watching him with a fond expression on her face. “I need-- Where can I clean up?”_ _

__Delilah snaps her fingers, and the entire room straightens out; Logan’s shirt and pants fold themselves up to rest on the bed, which is now made, and Logan is clean. He sighs in relief and stands, because something adjacent to panic is buzzing in his head like a migraine and he needs to be alone._ _

__“I have to go,” he says, pulling his clothes back on in a rush. He risks looking over at Delilah and her lips are pressed together. She looks like she’s judging him, which makes his panic stronger._ _

__He just allowed a woman to-- Logan can’t even finish the thought. Delilah doesn’t say anything as he leaves, stumbling through her bedroom door and tripping down the stairs, and that’s almost worse._ _

__Logan needs to get out of here. The breeze plays with his hair as he walks to his car, and he feels a strange urge to do something violent._ _

___Just leave_ , he tells himself. _Hurting someone else will not make your pain go away. She did not do this to hurt you_._ _

__He knows that, but does not feel it, so he drives. Feeling like his mother, he drives._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember what I said in the beginning note of this chapter and tell me what you think! Also, what did you think of the summary? Is there anything I should change? Anything that made you almost decide not to click this story?


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